Debbie Mazzuca - Lord of the Isles

“Lady Aileanna speaks the truth, my lord,” Mari bravely added.

From the back, Rory saw a flash of movement. Janet Cameron pushed her son forward. The lad was al of about eight. “Ye tel yer laird what ye told me,” she admonished him.

The boy stumbled toward the front of the hal .

“What’s yer name, lad?”

“Jamie. Jamie Cameron,” he mumbled, glancing back at his mother, who glared at him, arms crossed over her heaving chest.

Rory closed his eyes at the memory of the battle where the lad’s da had lost his life. He released a weary sigh. Cameron had fought hard and died honorably earlier that year. He gentled his voice. “And what is it you have to tel me, young Jamie?”

“The lady didna’ trip the priest. She held her hand like so.” He demonstrated the defensive posture with his own wee hand. “To protect the maid, and then he fel .” He low

ered his head, casting a sidelong glance at Mari. He let out a pained breath, and once again looked over his shoulder at his mother. She jerked her head toward Mari. He shuf

fled his feet, then directed his ful attention to the lass.

“I’m sorry fer throwin’ the rocks at ye.”

The young maid’s eyes widened. She flushed, then smiled at the boy. “Thank ye,” she said, blinking back tears. Rory noted Aileanna swipe at her own cheek, then squeeze Mari’s hand.

“Jamie, yer a verra brave lad to come forward. Just like yer father, and I wil na forget it. Yer mother’s done a fine job with you, lad. When yer old enough, I’d be as hon

ored to have you fight at my side as I was to have yer father.” The boy beamed at his words. Out of the corner of his eye Rory saw Robert Chisholm

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come forward and whisper something in Aileanna’s ear. She started to rise, then looked at Rory. He nodded when he realized Maureen’s time must have come. Anytime a woman of Dunvegan was about to deliver, Rory battled his fears, praying no other would suffer as he had. He was thankful Maureen would have Aileanna to see to her. His gaze fol owed them as they left the hal .

“What . . . ye canna’ mean to let her get away with this?”

“Were you no’ listenin’?”

“But I am a man of God.”

“Aye, but that didna’ stop you from trippin’ over yer own two feet.” He ignored the snickers his words drew and con tinued. “In the future I would suggest you be verra careful before you bring charges against another. Yer welcome to join us fer the evenin’ meal, and then my men wil see you to wherever it is you travel.”

The priest dropped onto the bench with a thump, no longer surrounded by supporters. He looked around him and turned back to Rory. “I have matters elsewhere that re

quire my attention. I shal leave now.”

“My men wil be ready to escort you shortly.”

Ali laid the bundled baby into his mother’s arms. “He’s beautiful, Maureen, and very healthy.” The look of pure joy on the woman’s face wiped away Ali’s exhaustion.

“Thank ye, Lady Aileanna. Thank ye fer al ye’ve done.”

Ali smiled and patted Maureen Chisholm’s arm. “I didn’t do a thing. You were the one who did al the work.”

“I was verra scared and ye took my fears away. I’l no’

forget ye fer that.”

“It was my pleasure. Now I think his father’s waited long enough, don’t you? I’l tel him to come in and I’l see you first thing in the morning. Get some rest.”

As the door to the tiny thatched cottage squeaked open, 92

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two men straightened from where they leaned against an old, battered oak tree. A half moon hung overhead, cast ing a glimmer of light on the men’s shadowed faces. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of Rory, her body’s re sponse to him immediate. She tried to ignore the implica

tions, to pretend her reaction was no different than any woman’s would be to a man as powerful and as gorgeous as the Laird of Dunvegan. But she didn’t need the voice in her head to tel her she was ful of it. Everything she’d witnessed in the hal earlier that day had proven to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was one man worthy of not only a woman’s love, but her re

spect as wel . His strength of character, the fairness of his judgment—although she’d doubted it in the beginning—

and the depth of loyalty he garnered from his clan al bore witness to that. She envied Brianna MacLeod more than she cared to admit. Envied the love they had shared—a love worthy of a romance novel, and she should know—

she’d read enough of them.

One day, if she was lucky enough to find her own hero, he’d be a very tarnished version of Rory MacLeod. They didn’t make men like him anymore. Drew Sanderson, her slimebal of an ex-boyfriend, was proof of that. The man was nothing like Rory, nor were any of the others she’d dated before him. And that said a lot about what her love life would be like once she got back to the twenty-first century.

She shoved her thoughts aside and took a step toward Robert Chisholm. “Your wife and son are waiting for you.”

A big grin creased his craggy face.

Rory clapped a hand on his friend’s back. “Go to Mau

reen and the bairn. I’l see you on the morrow.”

“Aye, I’l do that.” Robert clasped Ali’s hands with his.

“I canna’ thank ye enough, Lady Aileanna.”

“There’s no need. Your wife did al the work. He’s

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lovely, and they’re both doing wel ,” she reassured the proud father. “I told Maureen I’d stop by in the morning, so I’l see you then.” A cry that sounded like a little lamb came from within the cottage and they laughed. “I think your son is impatient to meet you.”

With one more squeeze of her hands, Robert released her, ducking his head before entering the cottage. A breeze wafted off the loch, rustling the trees, tugging at the cap on Ali’s head. She scratched beneath the stupid piece of fabric Mrs. Mac had insisted she wear. Damp and hot, her head itched after the hours she’d spent closed up in the cottage with the blazing fire Robert had insisted upon. The smoky scent of peat clung to her clothes. She heard Rory’s chuckle rumble deep in his chest and looked over to where he stood watching her. “I’m sur prised yer stil wearin’ the cap. I didna’ think ’twas one of yer favorites.”

She snorted. “It’s not, but Mrs. Mac didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”

Rory pushed away from the tree and seemed to hesi

tate before he came to her side. He looked down at her.

“You can take it off, Aileanna. The priest is gone,” he said quietly.

“Thank God. Mari wil be relieved.” She grimaced, pul ing out the pins that dug into her scalp.

“Aye, and you?” He lifted his hand as though to help her, but then let it drop to his side.

“Of course. The man is crazy.” The cap final y free, she tugged it from her head. “Uhmm, that feels so good,” she murmured, closing her eyes as she combed her fingers through her hair. When she opened them, she saw that Rory watched her with a pained expression on his face. She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Nay . . . nay. I’l see you home.” His tone was gruff. 94

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“Oh, I didn’t . . . you didn’t have to come for me. It’s light enough to make my way back on my own.”

“You were no’ the only reason I came, Aileanna.” Her name rol ed off his tongue in a low, smooth rumble that caused her toes to curl. “I thought I should be here fer Robert, in case . . .” He closed his mouth, his lips drawn in a thin, tight line. Tilting his head back, he squinted up at the stars that twinkled overhead. It took a moment for Ali to realize what he meant, and when she did her heart ached for him. “Oh, Rory.” She squeezed his arm. “Maureen and the baby are fine. They were at very low risk for anything to go wrong.”